Snape's eyes flickered—sometimes vacant, sometimes confused, sometimes doubtful, sometimes suspicious.
He was utterly thrown.
After a long moment, he snapped back to reality, only to meet "Lockhart's" bright blue eyes, sparkling even in the dim light, staring at him with innocent curiosity, as if completely unaware of what had just happened.
Snape narrowed his eyes, studying "Lockhart" closely while his mind raced.
It had been less than a week since he'd given Lockhart a proper thrashing. They hadn't crossed paths directly since. Lockhart had stopped holding court in the staff room, and at meals, he kept his distance, always sitting next to Hagrid's hulking frame for a sense of security.
So what was this? Why wasn't Lockhart scared or avoiding him anymore? Had he suddenly grown a spine?
Or…
Had Snape and Filch's unexpected intrusion caught him off guard, making him slip up and forget his act?
Snape's gaze dropped to the ominous-looking forbidden book clutched tightly in "Lockhart's" arms. A face flashed in his mind—last year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Quirrell, with the Dark Lord himself hitched to the back of his head.
Could Lockhart be pulling the same kind of stunt?
His incompetence, his flamboyance, his refusal to fight back when attacked, his fear of Snape—was it all an act? Just like Quirrell, was all this bumbling cowardice a façade to lower Hogwarts' guard?
If Lockhart was going to such lengths to lurk at Hogwarts, disguised as a fool like Quirrell had, he must be up to no good!
Hmph! Snape had warned Dumbledore time and again: you can't just hire anyone for Defense Against the Dark Arts! He was the best candidate for the job! But old Dumbledore was getting senile. Last year, he brought in Quirrell. This year, Lockhart. If Quirrell could smuggle Voldemort in on his head, who's to say Lockhart wasn't hiding something sinister under that ridiculous nightcap?
Snape would have to keep a close eye on him, just like he did with Quirrell. The safety of the entire wizarding world—Hogwarts, the Triwizard Tournament, the eleven great schools—it all rested on his shoulders! Without him, Hogwarts would fall apart in minutes!
His piercing gaze turned razor-sharp as he sized up "Lockhart."
Leon, meanwhile, was grinning ear to ear, his cheeks aching from maintaining the façade. He held "Lockhart's" calm, natural smile under Snape's dagger-like stare, praying Snape couldn't tell this "Lockhart" was a fake.
No way, right? No way.
After signing that employment contract with the real Lockhart, Leon had spent ages perfecting a one-to-one imitation of him. Even his voice was spot-on. It was all so he could slip into "Lockhart's" skin at a moment's notice. Throwing an employee under the bus was just good boss behavior.
Snape had only known Lockhart for what, a week? Ten days at most? Even if they'd traded blows, Snape couldn't possibly know him well enough to spot a fake. That icy glare was probably just his usual loathing for Lockhart—after all, Lockhart was the first to dare slap shampoo on Snape's greasy hair. The fact that Snape hadn't finished him off already was practically saintly.
Leon didn't even entertain the idea that Snape could see through his disguise. For one, Polyjuice Potion wasn't exactly sold at every corner shop—even Aurors had to brew it themselves. Sneaking around at night with a flask of Polyjuice, ready to transform into someone else? That was a bit too wild. For another, this level of human Transfiguration was so advanced, only a handful of masters worldwide could pull it off.
Unless… he was a Metamorphmagus.
Wait a second.
Leon could pass as one. His cousin, Andromeda Tonks' daughter, was a natural-born Metamorphmagus. Perfect. If he ever got caught, he'd just claim to be one.
Human Transfiguration? Never heard of it.
While Snape was busy spinning theories about Lockhart's grand conspiracy, he stayed silent. Filch, always groveling around professors, didn't dare speak either. The scene froze awkwardly.
"Ahem, well, if there's nothing else, I'll head off to rest," Leon said, not caring what was brewing in Snape's oily head. He just wanted out. "Goodnight, Severus! Goodnight, Mr. Filch!"
He took a few quick steps, slipping between them, ready to make his grand exit. But Snape, as if his boots were greased with his own hair oil, slid forward in a flash, blocking Leon's path.
Two icy glares shot from beneath Snape's curtain of dark hair. "Lockhart! I'm watching you. Always watching. No sneaky tricks or schemes will escape me."
Leon was baffled. Why was Snape suddenly throwing threats at Lockhart? He scrambled for a response, blurting out nonsense: "Great, thanks for the attention! By the way, my new line of haircare products is launching soon! I'll send you a free set!"
Under Snape's murderous glare, Leon sauntered out of the library and headed to the third floor. But he didn't go back to the Chamber of Secrets. With Snape vowing to keep tabs on him, returning there or to the Gryffindor Tower would be foolish. Instead, he went to Lockщение
System: Lockhart's office, where the real Lockhart was currently staying as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
Leon woke the soundly sleeping Lockhart and quickly filled him in on the library incident, instructing him to act consistently with how "Lockhart" had behaved tonight to cover any gaps in the story. Then, Leon transfigured Lockhart's sofa into a comfy bed and settled in for a good night's sleep.
He wasn't too worried about Lockhart. They'd just signed a contract, tying their interests together. Lockhart needed him for plenty of things, so betraying Leon wouldn't do him any good. Besides, taking the fall for sneaking into the Restricted Section wasn't exactly a big deal.
The next morning, Leon got up early. Before Lockhart woke, he called Kreacher to whisk him back to the Gryffindor dorms. Good thing the four-poster beds at Hogwarts had thick curtains—otherwise, his four dormmates would've noticed his bed was empty most nights.
Leon made a show of pulling back his curtains and changing into his wizard robes, ready to head to the bathroom. Just then, Colin Creevey, from the next bed, got up and spotted him.
"Leon! You didn't get up super early today?" Colin said, surprised. He'd always assumed Leon's nightly absences were because he was an early riser, slipping out before anyone else was awake.
They washed up quickly and headed out together, making their way to the Gryffindor common room. There, they saw Ginny standing by the noticeboard, reading something intently.
"Morning, Ginny! What's up?" Leon asked, joining her to look at the board.
Colin, a step behind, squeezed in next to Leon and read the notice aloud, word by word: "This Thursday at 3:30 p.m., the first flying lesson for Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years will take place on the outdoor grounds, led by Madam Hooch. Please come prepared and don't be late! P.S. There will be a flying test at the end of the term. Those who fail will have to retake the class next year."
Leon groaned inwardly. He hated riding broomsticks—they were way too uncomfortable.
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